There and Thereabouts
by unannehmlichkeiten
Summary: Shinji feels a bit...out of place. Repeatedly thrust into new and different realities along with the rest of NERV, can he find the key to break free? Will he want to? AU, Laughs, and Intrigue Throughout, some language. Please review!


The sun sat low in the sky as Shinji once again made the familiar trek from the train station back to his apartment, where the same old evening awaited him. Soon the sun would sink below the horizon, and night would once again refuse to work its magic on their little household; the same dysfunctions would continue, the same social ineptitude would prevail on his part, and he would once again fail to inch any closer towards intimacy with any female he happened to share living quarters with. The same old boring tedium he was all-too used-to, which was only ever interrupted by the psyche-reaving encounters with those beings called Angels.

'The Angels…that's something to think about. Or, rather, something I'd rather not think about,' Shinji thought to himself as he started to shake. Those things, they were all gone now, right? So then, why did the Evangelion Project remain? What use was there for a weapon, and furthermore, for its operator? Letting all this stew inside his already confused mind, he retired to the concrete balcony of Misato's apartment, content to stare blankly into the stars.

"At first I thought the Angels were from the heavens, or, space, I mean… But looking at it, there are just as many stars now that they're gone."

"Squawkk!" Pen-pen's emphatic reply echoed off the stark walls of the small space, and out to the surrounding, empty area.

"Gah, don't sneak up on people like that!" Shinji looked down at the penguin, who stood to the side of the leaned-back folding chair, cocking its head innocently.

"Urrk?"

"…fine. Come here." At Shinji's resignation, Pen-pen hopped up onto the chair, sitting between the former's legs. After a moment of getting settled, the two resumed their starward gaze. "Why do you think I'm still here? The Angels are all gone, and yet, I don't feel happy; just empty…"

"Squawwk…"

"What do you mean, _Cathartic_? What do you know, stupid…who ever heard of a warm-water peng—" He caught himself mid-quip as he heard what he assumed to be snoring coming from the small, feathery, vaguely eggplant-shaped creature in his lap. "Maybe…it is getting a bit…late," Shinji mused, followed by a magnificently wide yawn. Slowly, his eyes began to feel heavy, droopy, drowsy and dim; his eyelids began to drift down despite his best efforts, and within a moment he was locked down into sleep.

'It's strange though,' he thought audibly in his own head. 'It's not like normal sleep, is it?'

The sounds around him began to melt together, fading almost entirely, and becoming oddly pleasing. The chirping cicadas no longer disturbed his rest as they once did, and his relaxation began to pervade every inch of his consciousness, until that too began to slip away.

After only a moment, he once again became aware of himself, and the sounds around him also began to fade in, though they were somehow different. He felt something forcing itself against his eyelids, a bright white light. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around, unable to immediately comprehend what he was seeing; only to perceive the pieces. Hardwood flooring, folding chairs set in semi-circular rows, velvet curtains to either side, hot white lights sending their energy with reckless abandon, an empty mass of cushioned seats below…

"A Stage… But…"

Looking down, Shinji found his well-worn t-shirt and shorts replaced by something a bit more tasteful: a black ruffle-front shirt and bow-tie, with black trousers, black cummerbund, and black shoes. He looked at his reflection in the perfectly-buffed leather, and thought he looked decent, for once. Maybe even a bit handsome?

'No, that's too much to hope for, Johnny Cash,' he told himself, when a pair of hands hoisted him to his feet, pulling him up by his shoulders. He felt himself spun around, and brought face to face with Maya Ibuki, the NERV technician who had supported so many of his missions via radio from Central Dogma. Their face-to-face meetings had been few, but even at those times he couldn't remember her looking like this. Her usual NERV uniform (which, although flattering, was not the most refined, feminine garment in creation,) was replaced by a plain black dress, which covered the shoulders and arms completely and reached the anklebones, yet left a rather deep rectangular cut open for the neck and bust. Shinji was taken pleasantly by surprise at her new appearance, and couldn't help but to stare for a moment. Maya grew tired of his speechless face, and physically shook him out of it.

"Shinji! We've been looking everywhere for you; get backstage before the Maestra gets even more annoyed with you!"

Maya led him back behind the stage and down several corridors into a cavernous room where more people, similarly clothed, strolled about; some held instruments, others perused leaf after leaf of sheet music, still more warmed up their voices. Shinji recognized familiar strains from several pieces floating around the room, but one by one they ceased as the entire room turned to look at him, some with slight smiles crossing their faces. The silence was broken by a piercing, somewhat annoyingly chirpy voice from the back of the crowd.

"Is that idiot back? Let me through! Honestly, do you have any idea how hard it is to run a symphony around here… Step aside, cretin!"

Shinji looked on as several in the crowd were shoved aside to let through the source of the proud, defiant voice, until it found its way to the front. Pushing past the last person in the front, (who Shinji later recognized as Shigeru Aoba, another NERV technician,) a girl came out from the crowd, causing the already bewildered Shinji to nearly burst out laughing.

She could not have stood more than five feet tall, nor could she have been more than ten years old, and yet she wore a tastefully cut tuxedo, complete with coat-tails. Large green eyes stared up at him angrily through a few stray bangs of her bright red hair, which capped her head in several sharply tipped licks, and flowed down to meet her shirt collar in the back.

Shinji looked around at the rest of the formally fitted congregation, eyes flitting from person to person, looking for someone else smiling like he was, someone else who saw the humor in the cute little girl between himself and the rest of them. He looked to Kensuke, who seemed to be signaling him.

"Kensuke, who's this kid? Moreover," he continued, reaching out for the child's lapel and taking it in hand, "who put the tuxedo on her? It's cute, but…I don't get it—OW!"

Shinji recoiled, and took his hand back as the girl gave it a whip with a thin wooden baton. He immediately reached down, and snatched it from her, still cradling his other hand from the stinging pain.

"Hey! Give that back, fool! You have some nerve taking the M—"

"W-who gave her this baton?" He looked around for an answer while holding the baton up at his shoulder's height, forcing the small child to jump up, trying in vain to grab it back.

"Shinji," Maya hissed in an aggravated stage-whisper, "that's the Maestra. You might want to give her the baton back and apologize."

"She's the…oh…" Shinji looked down, and seeing the child's eyes starting to well with tears of frustration, crouched down to give her the baton. Something caught his eye, though, as he returned her symbol of office. "Are those…dog tags?" He reached out for the twin metal tags, but his hand was once again thwarted by a quick whip of the baton.

"GAH! This is why you don't give those things to kids…"

"Now get over with your co-soloist, idiot," she said, wiping the last little tear from her eye and returning to her caustic self. "We might just get something done."

Several minutes later, the entire group had assembled back on the stage where Shinji had regained consciousness about an hour before. Shinji sat in a chair set apart from the main orchestra, with his cello laid in his lap, leaning the neck against his own as he waited for his co-soloist to arrive. He did look forward to it; he had recently found out he was to accompany Rei, who would be singing. After a moment of waiting, she rounded the outside of the orchestra, carrying a large wooden box.

"Rei, what is that for?"

"For the Maestra," she replied quietly, setting the box down on top of the conductor's already-raised platform. "The same goes for Miss Sohryu," she continued, motioning to Asuka, who came around the other side, carrying another box, this one without a top.

"Asuka…what's in the box?"

"Don't play dumb, Shinji. You remember how the Maestra operates." She snickered to herself as she walked back to the percussion section. "That's why I'm glad I'm in the back!"

The dull ambience of conversation was cut off by a sudden rapid tapping on the conductor's podium. The Maestra clambered up onto her second dais, and addressed her people.

"Alright, let's see if we can't make some music happen! Soloists, you know what'll happen," she added with a sinister tone.

The orchestra began to play a slow, legato line that rose and fell calmingly; Shinji found himself almost lulled to sleep until something jarred him awake. It was a high, yet sweet tone that cut above the instrumentation, a B flat that seemed to warm him from the inside as it continued and formed a word, a phrase, a prayer.

"Ave Maria, Gratia plena… Maria gratia plena… Maria, gratia plena… Ave… Ave Dominus, dominus tecum…"

Shinji found himself entranced, and even found himself begin to sing as well.

"Benidictus tu en mulieribus, et benedictus… et bene—MOTHER OF GOD!"

He interrupted himself quite sacrilegiously, but with good reason, as a large brick narrowly missed his then mesmerized head, hurtling by and crashing into Dr. Akagi's Bassoon. She walked off in frustration to find a replacement, and when Shinji looked back, the conductor stood right in front of his place, face obscured by his music stand, which she promptly threw aside. In one hand she still held her baton, in the other a large red brick like the one that had nearly made friends with his skull a moment before.

"I'm, s-sorry, I got distracted, and…"

"That's how we do things in the Tokyo-3 Symphonic, huh? That's that new shit, isn't it? The way your Maestra taught you, right! If I wanted a tenor to accompany Miss Ayanami, I would've gotten Luciano god-damned Pavarotti! Got it?"

"Y-yes, I understand."

"Keep your eyes off her, and maybe we can make some music tonight! Sound good?"

"Yes, Maestra."

She turned about quickly, making her coat-tails flourish dramatically. 'Where does a little kid learn to talk like that,' Shinji wondered, once again bewildered. She climbed back up to her podium, and began talking to her baton, which she wiggled back at her face as if to give it a voice.

"I know he's no good, but the other cellists are so… Two bricks? No, of course I won't hold you responsible. He might figure it out… Let's talk later."

The ensemble rehearsed for another hour or so, in which Shinji was actually able to hold down his part, which amounted to counter-melody to Rei's vocal line. The orchestra (and the brass section in particular) seemed fatigued, so the Maestra released them for the evening.

"I can't have you people running all over the city to go home with the big concert being tomorrow, so you'll all be staying in the hotel adjacent to the concert hall tonight. See to it that you don't quarrel with your roommate, or I'll give you far worse in the morning! Ciao!"

After packing up their instruments (and restacking the bricks), the Tokyo-3 Symphonic Orchestra headed for the hotel next door, en-masse, and received their rooms at the front desk. Shinji found it odd at first to spend the night with Kouzou Fuyutsuki, but soon settled in as they began to chat before turning in that night.

'Fuyutsuki, wasn't he…in charge of me," Shinji wondered. It seemed as a dream, though; hazy and unsure, whether it had ever happened, and the more he thought on it, the farther it receded.

"So, Mr. Fuyutsuki, what do you think of the concert tomorrow," He asked, trying to open up some cordiality between them.

"It shouldn't be a problem, really. The audience, they usually can't tell whether you've made mistakes or not."

"I suppose…"

"That's why we're musicians, Shinji, and they're simply listeners."

"But," Shinji mused, if partially to himself as he drifted to sleep, "If they are simply an audience, and we're the musicians… Where does that leave the Maestra?"

Fuyutsuki chuckled to himself, as an older wiser person does in the presence of naïveté. "It's a whole different tier, Shinji. You'd do well to remember that."

Composer's Note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of what I hope to craft into a funny yet meaningful piece. It is for that reason I respectfully request your reviews and feedback, It greatly helps to spark the creative process, and helps it to move in the right direction. (For if not to play to an audience, why would one compose?) Thank you once more, and look forward to more!

V/r,

Unannehmlichkeiten, SN, USN


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